Deep Roots
by linen-and-curls
Summary: Harry Potter is finished with being treated like a delicate flower; he longs to fight. When Dumbledore sends McGonagall to journey to Middle Earth to help fight in their war against Sauron, Harry takes his chance. -previously The Eight Pointed Star- R
1. The Leaving

Because I am amazing, I have decided to create an epic Lord of the Rings/Harry Potter crossover. Again, because I am amazing. Am I the only one who dislikes those stinking wizards doing everything in that war? I mean, come on. Give the guys who actually work for their skill a little credit. -a.k.a., this is the inspiration for my story. Fair treatment of Middle Earth Characters.

* * *

Chapter One – The Leaving

"Minerva, I know perfectly well how you feel about this. But you cannot deny the great help these people have given to us in the past- it is quite unwise to ignore their numerous favors."

"But _Albus_ – my duties are to the students! It is my job to protect them! Why is it so imperative that I go? Are you not also strong enough for the job?"

"Indeed, it would seem more likely. But there are important things that I must attend to in our own world. There are steps I must take in preparing Voldemort to be vanquished."

"Albus! Who knows how long this will endure!"

"Fear not, Minerva. Time passes much differently in this alternate world. And your skills will be put to much use."

"Albus…"

"Minerva. My world is final. I need you _there_. A portal will be arranged in two days time to take you to Rivendell, and you will sit on the meeting and carry the best wishes of the wizards and witches of this Earth with you. You will do what is in your power to aid those who seek the restoration of their people and the kindling of good. And most of all you will sow favors so that in turn they may aid us in our own battle against the darkness."

Minerva McGonagall sent a last, petulant gaze in the direction of Albus Dumbledore, before turning on her heel, robes swirling, and stalking out of the office.

The most powerful Good wizard on the planet sighed, acknowledging his foul play, and returned to his memories. As he delved deep in the Pensieve, a boy by the name of Harry Potter – arguably one of the most focal and important people in the struggle against the darkness – crept from his hiding place and left the office as well.

Things were now set in motion that may make or break the outcomes of two wars…in two different worlds.

xXx

-Two Days Later-

Harry's breathing was heavy. He was covered quite well by his Invisibility Cloak, but he remembered that Dumbledore could see through it. So many things could go wrong with this! What if the portal closed too soon? Too early? What if he ended up in the wrong place? Or in between? Or only half of him made it through, like splinching? What if Ron or Hermione came looking for him?

He couldn't see any way around it, though. Harry was sick and tired of waiting around for someone to do some good for the Light. Harry was supposed to be a beacon of hope; a symbol that good _can_ triumph. What good is he if he's not doing anything? Harry couldn't stand feeling so useless; so fragile; so _precious_. He was a man, God damn it. Men were supposed to fight for what they believed in. If it came to it, they were supposed to fight and _die_. His father had died for what he thought was right. For God's sake, his _mother_ had died for the cause! Who was… anyone! to deny his right to die? It was immoral and unjust.

And because of that, Harry was doing something in an effort to change it. If he simply wasn't allowed to participate in his own war, he would aid his fellow kindred. Dumbledore even said that if they helped these Other people, they may consent to give aid in their own struggle.

So, no matter the danger involved, Harry was going to travel through the same portal that his Transfiguration professor would be going through. He would be going to Rivendell – where ever that was. Harry was finally going to fight.

"Minerva, would you step up here, please?" called an obscure wizard. "I need you to drink this; it's a honing potion that will make sure you end up in the right place."

Professor McGonagall said nothing, but cooperatively swallowed the potion.

Still invisible, Harry snuck up and snatched a potion of the same labeling, hiding it under the Cloak with him before the wizard or his teacher registered its disappearance.

_'Astarill' _was its name; and pale blue was its color. Harry popped the cork and drank it quickly, lest he loose his window of opportunity. Already, there was a swirling sphere of light, growing larger under the care of the wizards.

His professor stalked forward, and stopped at an etched line. Harry looked down to see that the entire courtyard was carved out into some sort of giant rune. There were lots of curves, and twists. Every few meters there was an elegant star design, with eight points. As the portal grew larger, the stars began to glow – first with a very soft light, and then stronger until they would have blinded Harry, had he chanced to look at them directly.

Minerva McGonagall walked forward purposefully, and Harry followed. With a last glance to the wizard in charge, who nodded an affirmative, she stepped through the portal. Quickly, Harry jumped after her. And with that, the fate of his life was no longer jeopardized by the Dark Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters, but rather by Lord Sauron, and Saruman, and their combined host of Orcs, Goblins, and Uruk-hai. And it really was a toss-up to decide which evil was the greater evil; which peril was in reality more deadly. _Too late now_, Harry thought. There was no turning back from this, even if he wanted had wanted to.

* * *

Well, so closes the first chapter - which really ends up as an introductory. But oh well. I know it's all Harry Potter right now but the second chapter will be a lot more of LotR (Minerva and Harry are going to the Secret Council Meeting Wooooo) and that should be fun :]

So, please. Read and review! I'll be uploading again soon!

~Love, Nia~


	2. Rivendell

Just because I'm really feeling the inspiration vibes from this fic, I'll write some more :]

There is a lot of random Elvish in this chapter, but never fear. If the speakers themselves don't translate, there should be a number in parenthesis by the phrase in question, and it's translation at the bottom of the chapter. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, the book or the movie. The scene from the council meeting is from the movie script. Harry/Minerva-centric plot belongs to me.

NOTES: Sincere sorrys to **Beefcake the Mightly** (Sarah) for not sending this to her first…I promise you the next chapter in advance. But I went over my deadline for publishing this and I got antsy…. Sorry babe  Love you! I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Two- Rivendell

Minerva reached the other side and gazed around her. She was standing on a rune with the similar size and shape as the rune back home. Arrayed before her was a party of otherworldly beautiful beings. Some had platinum blond hair; others had russet shades, and still more had deep brown. They all stood with poise and elegance, and immediately made her feel small and insignificant. These were clearly elves, and had easily outlived her entire possible lifespan tenfold. It was a very humbling moment.

That is, until the portal flared again seconds later and an invisible force stumbled into her, stepping on the hem of her robes and pitching her forward. She never even had the chance to whirl around: six elves were already either leaping forward to discern the unknown entity or drawing some sort of weapon; knife and bow each leveled in turn toward the intruder.

Two of the elves grabbed the invisible mass and yanked off a cloak, to reveal-

"Mister Potter! WHAT are you doing here?! You do not belong here! Go back to the school this instant!"

"It's too late now, Professor," Harry said, red-faced and looking sheepish but smug nonetheless. "The portal's closed." He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, and sure enough the glimmering lights had disappeared. As had the glow from the stars on the ground. Minerva was alone with Harry, six elves, the soft burn of their lanterns and the dim light of the stars and sliver moon. There was no turning back. She was roped into this until her job was done – and now, so was Harry.

He must have seen her slight panic: Minerva had never really been okay with being this cut off from everyone. There were so many that she cared about in her own world; now she had left them all, and for what? Harry reached his hand towards her with the intent to comfort and in a fit, she smacked it away.

He withdrew; his eyes were wide as he stared at his teacher.

"You are a fool to come here, Mister Potter," Minerva said in a low voice. And with that she stalked up the path, following the distant lights to the city called Rivendell.

xXx

In the city, Harry found himself being led off a fork in the path, as he watched another elf bow graciously to his professor, taking her hand and leading her in the opposite direction.

"Where are we going?" he asked his guide suspiciously.

"We are taking you to be clothed and adorned in the fashion of our people," stated one elf in a serene, detached voice.

Harry took in the fine silks, the elegantly wrought designs, the glittering gems, and said, "Okay."

The room the elf led him to didn't have a door – none of the passages in this foreign place did. Inside, on a floor of crushed leaves and soft brown silt, were vanity tables, and a group of tall, ethereal elven women.

"Sinome es edan, Harry Potter. Habillez-le s'il vous plaît dans notre habit; et pour l'amour de tout ce qui est saint, fait quelque chose avec ses cheveux."(1)

Harry recognized his name but nothing else, and the elf ladies nodded in affirmative.

"Please come here, Harry Potter, child of Men," said a blonde elf in the most heavenly voice. He was so entranced he didn't even balk at being called a child. He followed her faithfully and didn't even notice when his guide slipped quietly away. Her soft, delicate fingers loosened his tie, and he found himself quite smitten for the moment. He was too busy gazing into her face to recognize that he had been undressed and redressed before he even registered the change.

"Havo dad, Harry Potter. Sit," she said, again in that lilting tone. He obediently seated himself, and noticed he was sitting in front of a mirror, and his elven fancy was stroking her fingers through his hair. He opened his mouth to tell her that it would be no use; that his hair will never behave or lie flat, he should know. He had been battling with it all his life. Something witty like that, just to hear her laugh and see if it sounded like bells. But nothing came out; his throat was stopped up in the presence of this towering beauty.

He drifted away, his eyes becoming unfocused as his brain lingered entirely upon the smooth, soft sensations on his scalp.

Harry came to, blinking his eyes into focus as he heard louder voices. Up until this point, all the sounds he heard were the slide of silk and the soft murmurs of the ladies in the room. But these new voices were the voices of men, and they spoke louder than the elves. They were headed to the same room, as well.

A handsome man walked in, his step light for his boots and his size. He had shoulder-length, dark-brown hair, and a shortly trimmed but scruffy beard. His hands were red and bloodstained, and his clothes were torn and dirty. He had a sword on his hip, and a knife-hilt poking out of his boot. He looked like a warrior. But when he spoke, his voice was soft and gentle, but commanding.

(2) "Aaye, mellonamin. Nae saian luume'," said the man. Harry became flustered, almost furious that this man understood this gorgeous language and spoke it as if it is his own.

(3) "Mae govannen, Estel," said the she-elf whose hands had left his hair. "Oio naa elealla alasse'."

(4) "Vanimle sila tiri, Callë," said Estel. "It has been many years since last I saw you."

"You look battle weary, Estel. I heard it was you who rescued the small ones?" said Callë.

"Yes. One of them was stabbed on Weathertop by a Morgul blade."

"Oh dear!" cried Callë.

"What?" Harry asked, trying to discern the cause of her becoming upset.

(5) "Lle quena i'lambe tel' Eldalie, mellon?" Estel directed this question to him.

"I don't understand what you're saying," Harry said, feeling for some reason ashamed.

"That is alright, friend. Not many who are not elves can."

Harry bristled at this, and Estel sat down at a similar vanity table. While Callë returned to Harry, Harry watched the rugged man from the corner of his eye. No elf yet attended to him, but he didn't seem bothered by it. Even still, none of the other elves in the room made a move to even offer. It appeared that Estel was waiting for someone. Harry listened to the man hum quietly to himself, and the tunes he created were haunting. He picked at the dried blood on his hands sometimes, and clearly it bothered Harry that a man with blood on his hands would be allowed into this sanctuary of a place. Sometimes, Estel tried to rub the grime off the ring he wore on his index finger. Slowly it became more vibrant, and Harry saw the color of the gem was the same shade as his own eyes. He was not close enough to see the design.

"A'maelamin," said a voice much like Callë's but even more beautiful. Harry turned his head to see the woman, and to see whom she addressed. The lady in the doorway was tall and slender, with rippling dark hair and mysterious eyes. She was the most breathtaking woman he had ever seen. She was as pale as snow, and clasped around her neck was a gem that shone with its own light. She was looking at Estel.

"Arwen!" Estel cried. He stood from his seat and rose to meet Arwen. She held his face with a kind of rapture, and it served only to infuriate Harry more that he would not be receiving her affection.

"My Lord," she said, dipping her head to Estel.

"Arwen…no," he said quietly as he lifted her chin with his hand. "Lirimaer, ne vous inclinez pas à moi." (6)

(7) "Comme heruamin vœux," said Arwen as she rose her gaze. Estel pecked her lips, and she blushed.

"Now come, we must clean you up, O valiant Strider, savior of small Hobbits," Arwen teased. Estel stood where Harry had before, and it was now him whose shirt was unbuttoned.

"You are finished now, Harry Potter. You may leave," said Callë, who Harry realized he had forgotten. He had been so blinded by the Lady Arwen. (8)

"Thank you," he said to her, wrenching his eyes away from the dark-haired she-elf. He left the room, glad to be rid of Estel.

xXx

-The Secret Council-

Harry and Minerva were seated in a ring of many races, all around a stone pedestal. A regal-looking elf – somebody had addressed him as Lord Elrond – was across from it, on the other side of the gathered folk. Among them, besides himself and Professor McGonagall, was Estel, a small boy (which confused Harry), a very old man who reminded him of Dumbledore, countless elves, some normal men, and three beings Harry assumed to be dwarves.

Suddenly, all fell silent, and Elrond spoke.

"Strangers from distant lands, friends of old. You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate--this one doom. Bring forth the Ring, Frodo."

The small boy stood and placed a small, golden ring upon the stone pedestal.

"So it is true…" one of the men said reverently.

"The Doom of Men," said another.

The first man stood up, and spoke to the council. "In a dream, I saw the Eastern sky grow dark. But in the West a pale light lingered. A voice was crying: Your doom is near at hand. Isildur's Bane is found." His fingers hovered lightly over the shining ring.

"Isildur's bane," he repeated.

"Boromir!" said Elrond loudly as he leapt up.

Harry's head started pounding and he heard a foul voice chanting.

The old man who reminded him of Dumbledore stood suddenly as well, and started chanting in unison.

"Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul" (9)

The sinister voice of the ring died away, and Boromir resumed his seat, horrified.

"Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris!" cried Elrond, rebuking the wizened man.

"I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond, for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West! The Ring is altogether evil!" said the man, his voice raspy. He sent a last scathing glare in Boromir's direction, who in turn appeared unperturbed.

"It is a gift. A gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring?" Boromir shoveled on. "Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe! Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against him!"

Harry assumed that Gondor was a nation or a city.

"You cannot wield it! None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master," said Estel decisively.

"And what would a ranger know of this matter?" said Boromir with disdain.

A very blond elf stood suddenly. "This is no mere ranger. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance."

Harry did a double-take. He had been very much under the impression that this man was called Estel, but he was apparently in fact called Aragorn.

"Aragorn? This... is Isildur's heir?" said Boromir incredulously.

"And heir to the throne of Gondor," the elf clarified. Harry looked at him in shock – this scruffy, war-wearied man was a prince?

"Havo dad, Legolas," said Aragorn tiredly, gesturing for the elf to cease his defense.

Boromir looked at Aragorn with disgust. "Gondor has no king. Gondor needs no king," he said decisively. And then he sat.

"Aragorn is right," said the old man. "We cannot use it."

Elrond gazed at the council. "You have only one choice," he said. "The Ring must be destroyed."

"Then what are we waiting for?" yelled a dwarf with what sounded like a strong Scottish accent. He grabbed and axe, and with a battle cry, he brought it down with full force upon the ring. The dwarf was thrown back, and when Harry looked at the Ring again, it was surrounded by shards of metal, but otherwise unharmed.

The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Glóin, by any craft that we here possess," said Elrond. "The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came."

"Ash nazg," whispered the Ring.

"One of you must do this."

There was dead silence.

Boromir sighed tiredly. "One does not simply walk into Mordor. Its black gates are guarded by more than just Orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep. And the great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland. Riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly!"

"Have you heard nothing Lord Elrond has said?" said Legolas indignantly. "The ring must be destroyed!"

"And I suppose you think you're the one to do it!" said the dwarf to Legolas, leaping to his feet.

Boromir stood also. "And if we fail, what then?"

"I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an elf!" said Gimli righteously.

The argument raged on, becoming more intense. Harry and his teacher did not engage in it, as they did not have enough knowledge to contribute.

The small boy stood up.

"I will take it," he said. No one heard him

"I will take it!" he said louder. Everyone fell quiet, and turned to stare at him.

"Though…" he said. "Though, I do not know the way…."

The old man walked to Frodo. "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, as long as it is yours to bear," he said, and laid his hand comfortingly on his shoulder.

Aragorn came to kneel at Frodo's feet. "If, by my life or death," he said solemnly. "I can protect you, I will. You have my sword."

"And you have my bow," said Legolas, coming to stand with them.

"And my axe!" said Gimli, looking grimly at Legolas.

"You carry the fate of us all little one," said Boromir. "If this is indeed the will of the Council, then Gondor will see it done."

Harry stood quickly, taking Professor McGonagall's hand and dragging her with him.

"We will help in whatever way we can!" he said, and they stood together behind the small boy. Minerva looked reproachfully at him.

"Heh!" said a voice from the bushes, and from them ran a man the same size as Frodo. "Mr. Frodo is not goin' anywhere without me!"

"No indeed," said Elrond. "It is hardly possible to separate you even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not."

Harry coughed and looked at his shoes.

"Wait! We are coming too!" said two voices from behind pillars.

"You'd have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us!" said one of them.

"Anyway you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission, quest... thing," said the other.

"Well that rules you out, Pip," said the first.

"Eleven companions," Elrond mused. "So be it! You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring!"

"Great! Where are we going?" said Pip cheerfully.

* * *

(1) The first sentence is in Sindarian, the second one is in French because none of the translators I could find had my mundane words….whatever.  The translation is _"Here is the man, Harry Potter. Please clothe him in our garb; and for the love of all that is holy, do something with his hair."_ Hm…our little elf is a little (lot) passive-aggressive here…curious.

(2) All Sindarian here: _"Hail, my friend. It has been too long."_

(3) Also Sindarian: _"Well met, Estel." _and then: _"Ever is thy sight a joy."_

(4) Sindarian: _"Your beauty shines bright, Callë." _Also, Callë means "Patricia"

(5) Sindarian: _"Do you speak Elvish, friend?"_

(6) Sindarian/French: _"Lovely one, do not bow to me."_

(7) Sindarian/French: _"As my lord wishes."_

(8) Author's Note: "Lady Arwen" is totally overkill. Because "Arwen" translates to "Lady", so it's like saying "Lady Lady". This clearly doesn't make sense.

(9) The language of Mordor: _"One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them, one ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them."_

**Thank you so much for reading!!!**

**Please REVIEW! ******

(p.s. – six pages!)

(p.p.s. - I desperately need a new title for this story, the one I have sucks. if you have ANY ideas, please let me know!)


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